


Watch Over You

by sandwastesinthevoidofmychest



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Don't copy to another site, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Not Beta Read, POV Mycroft Holmes, Soft Smut Sunday, They're so in love I can't cope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:54:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24722638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandwastesinthevoidofmychest/pseuds/sandwastesinthevoidofmychest
Summary: Mycroft returns from America just as Greg closes the biggest case of his career.Knowing he's exhausted, Mycroft is determined to look after his husband.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Mycroft Holmes/Lestrade
Comments: 16
Kudos: 161
Collections: Soft Smut Sunday





	Watch Over You

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr's @softsmutsunday's prompt for this week was 'watch', here is the result. 
> 
> Enjoy <3

It’s after six by the time Mycroft finally walks through the front door. 

America was...exhausting. Perhaps exhausting is even too kind a word. 

He had been looking forward to seeing Gregory, but the house is silent. 

Anthea walks into the foyer behind him. “He hasn’t been home in two days.” 

Mycroft shakes his head, sadness overpowering the tiredness. “He promised me he had been sleeping.” 

Anthea makes a face, and it’s clear to Mycroft of the unsaid. 

He lets his head drop. “I know.” He murmurs. 

Mycroft knows Gregory, knows his husband so completely. 

Mycroft’s been away for two weeks, two unbearable weeks, and Greg’s team had found themselves with one of the highest-profile murder cases of the decade. 

Frankly, Mycroft is surprised it’s only been two days since Greg was home. 

When Mycroft is away, Greg has the unfortunate habit of overworking himself. 

This time however, the murder case had generated an extensive amount of work, media following every minute that they could.

The nation’s obsession with royalty seemingly stretching endlessly to overseas royals once one of them had been murdered on British soil. 

Over the short phone calls they had managed between them over the last fortnight, Mycroft had become increasingly concerned at the clear exhaustion in his husband’s voice. 

Had he been in the country, he’d have come by Scotland Yard each night to bring his husband home, make sure he’s eaten, showered, and prepared for a proper night’s slumber. 

However, the timing had been amiss, and he could only try and care from his husband from across the Atlantic Ocean. 

Having meals delivered for Gregory and his team at regular intervals each day had been one of the few things he could do to help. 

News had come during early morning that the murderer had been apprehended; a political aide who had planned the murder for most of his career. 

With the news had come a reassuring message from Gregory that he would be home tonight. 

“Greg is just about to hold a press conference. It’s being broadcast live on the BBC. Shall I turn the TV on so that you can watch it?” Anthea asks, not looking up from her phone. 

“Please.” Mycroft murmurs, taking off his coat. “Any idea when he’ll be home?” 

Anthea meets his eyes with a kind smile, “As soon as the conference is over. He asked for one of the drivers to be on standby.”

At this information, Mycroft raises a surprised brow. 

Anthea nods, knowing just as well as Mycroft that Greg prefers to drive himself unless strictly necessary. “He said he was too tired to drive himself, didn’t want to put others at risk.” 

“Have both mine and Gregory’s schedules cleared for tomorrow. The world can wait.” 

Yes, tomorrow will be theirs, just the two of them. 

He’ll pamper Gregory and make up for the two weeks away from each other. He’ll make sure his love sleeps properly. He’ll finally be able to hold him again. 

To have Gregory in his arms. 

Mycroft follows Anthea into the living room and sits on the sofa, taking out his phone while she turns on the TV. His initial plan when he got home was to shower, but he’s decided that he’ll wait for Gregory, they’ll shower together. 

He can only imagine the tension in his husband’s body after such a trying case, after sleeping on that horrid sofa in his office. Mycroft very nearly shudders at the thought. 

Yes, he fully intends to take care of Gregory from the second he steps through the threshold. 

The newsreader is still talking on the television, and Anthea glances at Mycroft, eyebrow raised. 

“I’m going to order us dinner.” Mycroft murmurs. “How long do you think this will take?” 

Anthea shrugs, “Possibly half an hour. The media are going to have an absolute field day with questions.” 

Mycroft nods, “I’ll order for delivery then.” He murmurs as he dials the number of their favourite Italian restaurant. 

They don’t normally do takeaway orders, but Mycroft pays them well for the inconvenience and they often add in extra dessert as thanks. 

Anthea hovers by the doorway as the press briefing begins. 

Her gasp echoes Mycroft’s own when they see Greg on the screen. 

“Christ, Mycroft. He looks wrecked.” The concern in her voice is evident. 

Mycroft is silent, heart aching for his husband. He had not been aware that the case had taken such an intense toll on Greg, but the proof is right there on the television. 

“Clear the next two days on both your schedules?” Anthea asks softly. 

Mycroft nods at her. “Please, Anthea.” The appreciation in his voice is clear. 

“I’ll leave you here then. I will ensure no one contacts either of you within the next two days unless in the case of a severe emergency.” She nods at Mycroft, “I’ll update you when he gets into the car.” 

Mycroft smiles gratefully. “Thank you, Anthea. You are a wonder, as always.”

“Goodnight, Mycroft.” She says softly before leaving. 

Once Mycroft hears the door close, he turns back to the TV. 

He feels a wave of guilt wash over him. 

Perhaps if he had been in the country, Gregory would be less tired now. Mycroft would have ensured it. 

Mycroft watches Greg’s speech with keen interest. His eyes cataloguing his husband’s tired features, seeking out the familiarity. 

That voice that’s whispered sweet nothings and love to him for years speaks evenly, giving the media the facts of the case and that it was now solved. 

When the questions begin, Mycroft turns off the TV, his thoughts on his husband. 

Getting up, he orders Greg’s favourite dishes from their Italian restaurant. He wanders into the kitchen, turning on the central heating and uncorks a bottle of red wine that’s been sitting on their counter for weeks. 

That done, he sets out plates and glasses on the table. They’d eat on the sofa, but Mycroft is hoping that he’ll have time to plate the food before Greg gets home. 

Mycroft makes his way upstairs, turning on the lights.  He wanders into their bedroom, pulling down the covers and fluffing their pillows.  In the ensuite he places towels on the heater and makes sure they have everything they need for a shared shower.   
  
Usually, he would run Greg a bath, but he can tell by how exhausted Greg looks that a shower would be easier and quicker; that he can deposit Greg in bed in the least amount of time. 

Mycroft’s phone buzzes in his pocket as he searches for their pyjamas to allow them to warm too. 

Greg’s comfort is always the most important thing to Mycroft, especially after long cases. 

Mycroft’s surprised to see a text telling him that Greg is on the way home. He hadn’t been aware that he’d passed so much time. ETA of fifteen minutes. 

When the doorbell rings a few minutes later, Mycroft is delighted to accept their food.   
The smells that waft from the bag are heavenly and he quickly goes about dishing out the food and he’s brought everything into the sitting room except the wine, when he hears a key turn in the front door. 

Mycroft immediately drops everything to meet his husband right away. 

“Gregory, my love.” Mycroft’s heart is racing as it always does whenever he sees the other man, after countless years it has never changed. 

Greg’s tired eyes brighten as they meet Mycroft’s, a delighted smile cross his face. “You’re home, you bloody brilliant man!” He immediately engulfs Mycroft in a warm hug. “Saw the lights on, but didn’t want to get my hopes up.” 

Mycroft clings onto him, slowly coaxing the other man into a kiss. 

“I love you.” He whispers between kisses. The kisses are slow, leisurely; both learning the feel of each other again. 

“Mmph.” Greg hums, clearly intent to continue kissing for another few minutes. “Love you too, darlin’.” He rests his head on Mycroft’s shoulder, burying his nose in Mycroft’s neck, inhaling. 

“You smell like plane.” He murmurs, breath warm on Mycroft’s skin. 

“And you smell like cigarettes and stale coffee.” Mycroft counters, voice soft. 

Greg chuckles, pressing his lips to Mycroft’s neck. “Sorry, love.” 

Mycroft kisses Greg’s forehead, “No need. Now, sitting room. I have a surprise for you.” 

Greg takes Mycroft’s hand in his as they walk. 

After time apart they both find comfort in constant touch. 

Greg groans, deep and satisfied when he sees the food on the coffee table. “You genius.” 

Mycroft coaxes Greg’s coat and suit jacket off his shoulders. Greg had already gotten rid of the tie as soon as he left the press conference. “Sit, my love. I’ve just to fetch the wine.”

“The one we’ve been saving?” Greg asks, eyes full of hope as he sits down, sighing deeply. 

Mycroft nods, “I believe our reunion is a special enough occasion to warrant it.” 

Greg yawns, “Jus’ make sure I don’t get too tipsy on you, darlin’. Y’know how I am with when I’m this tired.” 

Mycroft leans down into Greg’s space, bestowing a chaste kiss on his lips. “I know you, my love.” 

Greg grasps hold of Mycroft’s tie, and pulls him closer, deepening the kiss. When he lets go, he stares up at Mycroft in satisfaction, a content, tired smile across his face. “Mine.”

“I love you.” Mycroft says again, the words come out before he realises he’s said it again, but Greg’s resulting grin makes it completely worth it. 

Greg has already started to eat by the time Mycroft returns with the wine. He pours them both a glass and they clink glasses. 

“To you being home.” Greg murmurs, eyes gentle, warm enough for Mycroft to get lost in. 

“To you solving the biggest case of your career. So far.” Mycroft adds. 

“M’just glad you’re home, darlin’.” 

“As am I, Gregory.” Mycroft whispers, “Now, let me treat you like a king.” 

Mycroft’s slightly taken off-guard by Greg’s groan. “No royalty anymore, Myc. Sick of them.” He pauses to take a sip of wine, humming in appreciation. “You can tell Lizzie to shove her next dinner invitation too, had enough royal drama for a lifetime.” 

Mycroft can’t help his outburst of laughter. Gregory was always capable of doing this to him. 

“Then, my love, I will treat you like my husband should be treated.” 

“Much better than any royalty, Myc.” 

They eat dinner, shoulders touching as they lean together. Both hungrier than they realised, conversation can wait, at least they’re back at each other’s sides now. 

Mycroft encourages Greg to leave everything on the table, clean-up can wait. 

“Shower, now.” Mycroft murmurs, taking Greg’s hand in his own. 

“Join me?” The hope in Greg’s voice is clear. 

“Of course, my love.” Mycroft leans in to kiss Greg softly, there’s no urgency to it, just peaceful familiarity. 

In the bathroom, their clothes fall to the floor without ceremony. Neither of them bother to pick them up or fold them. Tomorrow is another day.

Mycroft leads Greg into the shower, water already running. 

They hold each other close, hands wandering over warm skin. Learning each other again. 

Kisses are slow and easy, no underlying need. 

They’ve come to a silent agreement that they’re both too tired; they can make love in the morning. 

Now, it’s just touch and warmth. 

Love and familiarity. 

Mycroft turns Greg around, lathering shampoo through his hair, massaging the tension from his shoulders. Pressing kisses to bare skin. 

Before the water begins to cool, Mycroft ushers Greg out of the shower. They both dry themselves with warm towels. Mycroft wears his pyjamas, Greg does too; a sure sign that he’s exhausted. 

Mycroft’s chest aches with fondness. 

They meet gazes in the mirror as they brush their teeth, and Mycroft lives for their domesticity. 

How something so simple can mean the world. 

They curl up under the covers, the room now in darkness. 

It’s Mycroft that’s the big spoon tonight, the thought makes him smile. 

Greg curls up against him, and Mycroft holds him close, where he’s meant to be. 

“I missed you.” Mycroft can hear the exhaustion in Greg’s voice, how he’ll be asleep within minutes. 

“I missed you too, my love.” Mycroft murmurs, pressing a kiss to Greg’s forehead. “Hopefully I won’t have to go away for so long next time.” 

He feels Greg tense, “Next time?”   
  
“Nothing planned yet. Don’t worry.” Mycroft holds him closer, “I can guarantee the next two days our solely ours without interruption.” 

He feels Greg relax against him. “Love you, My.” 

“I love you too, Gregory. Eternally.” 

Mycroft holds Greg close, watching over him as he hears his breathing even out and deepen. 

He spends a few minutes just listening, holding Greg close and feeling his solidity, his warmth. 

He falls into his own slumber listening to Greg’s breathing, allowing it to lull him to sleep.

* * *

When Mycroft wakes, the room is dim, but the early morning light is making a valiant effort to bypass their curtains. 

Greg’s still in his arms, head resting against Mycroft’s chest. Their legs are tangled and Mycroft breathes in his husband’s scent, familiar and comforting. How he’s missed this. 

Greg’s still asleep, muffled snores the only sound in the room. 

Mycroft lays there, overwhelmed by fondness and love. 

How did he become so fortunate? 

To have this man’s love, to be allowed to love him back. To wake up in his arms, to come home to, to hold. To call him his husband. 

Mycroft feels tears in his eyes, it’s not the first time he’s questioned his reality like this. 

He adores Gregory, and two weeks was far too long away from him. 

Mornings don’t feel right waking up alone, nor do nights without Greg’s warmth at his side. 

He kisses the top of Greg’s head, and holds him close. 

_I love you._

Mycroft’s dozing when he feels Greg wake. The snores gradually die out, and Greg shifts in his arms.   
  
“Myc?” Greg’s voice is rough with sleep, and it never fails to arouse Mycroft. 

“Good morning, my love.” Mycroft whispers. 

Greg moves, shifting so that they are both at eye level. “Been awake long?” 

Mycroft reaches out to caress Greg’s cheek, feeling stubble against his fingers. “On and off.” 

Greg groans, stretching. “We can’t have that, can we?” His dark eyes dance with amusement, the suggestive note in his voice instantly sending a shock of heat through Mycroft. 

“I suppose not…” Mycroft moves first, slowly leading Greg into a kiss. It’s starts off slow, searching and quickly progresses to heated, two weeks of longing clear in their touches. 

Mycroft continues to stroke Greg’s cheek, and Greg’s hand is fisted in the front of Mycroft’s pyjama top. 

“Lemme see you, darlin’. Been so long.” Greg doesn’t even bother pulling away from the kiss more than strictly necessary, knowing Mycroft will understand him regardless. 

“You too, Gregory.” 

“God, yes.” Greg groans, kicking the duvet off them both. 

They make quick work of their pyjamas, Greg laughing at Mycroft’s frustration of Greg actually wearing pyjamas for one; something he only does when thoroughly exhausted. 

“Love you.” Greg murmurs above Mycroft, kissing Mycroft’s neck and moving lower, biting at Mycroft’s shoulder and soothing with his tongue at the mark that will be left. 

Mycroft’s fingers trail Greg’s spine, hands shaking as Greg continues to move lower down his body, leaving kisses in his wake. 

It feels so wonderful to feel Greg’s bare skin again. Slowly, his fingers find their way into Greg’s hair, tightening slightly as Greg takes his cock in hand. 

“Gregory-!” 

Greghums around him, and Mycroft cries out as he’s taken into that warm, wet heat. 

Greg’s free hand searches out Mycroft’s, and Mycroft easily intertwines their fingers.   
  
Greg bobs his head, tongue teasing the frenulum in the way that he knows reduces Mycroft to desperate sounds. 

Mycroft can’t help the whine that he emits when Greg makes his way up his body again, drawing him into a deep kiss and Mycroft can taste himself. 

“Want you to fuck me, Myc. Want to feel you.” The husky note in Greg’s voice very nearly kills Mycroft. “Look after me, yeah?”

Mycroft can only nod frantically. “Anything.” 

Greg’s contented smile and hum of contentment as he lies down makes Mycroft melt. 

Mycroft rises to wobbly knees, kissing Greg soundly before he moves to fetch the lube. 

Mycroft makes a home for himself in the space between Greg’s legs, spread invitingly. 

He mouths against Greg’s straining cock, licking up drops of pre-come, careful not to tease. 

Mycroft coats his fingers, and slowly breaches Greg with one. 

“Fuck-, Myc!” 

Mycroft stills, looking up at his husband in concern. “Are you alright?” 

Greg nods, closing his eyes, “Jus-Just thought about this a lot. Move, please. Need you.” 

Mycroft presses kisses to Greg’s thighs as he prepares Greg, making sure to brush against Greg’s prostate regularly, but not too much. He’s proud to say that he knows Greg’s body intimately, knows all the signs of what’s too much or not enough. 

“Please, darlin’.” Greg breathes. 

Mycroft hums in affirmation, moving back, watching Greg with adoration and love. 

“How would you like?” He asks softly, pressing a kiss to Greg’s forehead. 

Greg is silent for a few contemplative seconds, in which Mycroft is convinced that Greg can probably feel his heart thud in his chest. 

“Sitting.” Greg whispers, “Want to ride you, but kiss you too.” 

“Of course, my love.” Mycroft kisses Greg again, their rising desperation clear in their kiss. 

Their moans are shared and loud as Greg lowers himself onto Mycroft’s cock. Mycroft’s arms around Greg, coaxing him to relax. Kissing any skin available to him and Greg begins to relax. 

“Christ, I’ve missed this.” Greg breaths once fully seated, leaning his forehead against Mycroft’s and copies Mycroft’s even breaths. 

Mycroft trails his fingers up and down Greg’s back in soothing patterns, “I love you, Gregory.” Mycroft barely gets the sentence out before Greg’s lips are own his own, intent and heated. 

Mycroft whimpers when Greg starts to move, and Greg’s moan is swallowed by their kisses, which show no signs of stopping anytime soon. 

Greg’s hands find their way into Mycroft’s hair, fingers tugging just on the right side of painful. 

“Please!” Greg cries against Mycroft’s lips, “Myc-“ 

“Shh, wonderful man.” Mycroft whispers, taking Greg up on his unspoken plea and starts meeting Greg’s movements with his own thrusts. 

Greg moans louder as Mycroft wraps his hand around his cock. It’s trapped between their bodies and as begins to stroke, Greg gets louder.   
  
Mycroft could soak up his husband’s moans, replay them for the rest of his life. 

Unafraid and safe around Greg, Mycroft’s lets go; both of them filling the room with pleas and cries of love. 

It doesn’t take long until they both climax, orgasms following one another over the edge. 

Two weeks without this has felt like a lifetime. 

Mycroft holds Greg in his arms as he comes down, pressing gentle kisses to his forehead. Greg refuses to move just yet, despite the mess between their bodies. 

It’s a comfortable silence, understanding as they both get their breathing back to normal. Greg’s hands play with the hair at the nape of Mycroft’s neck, resting his head on Mycroft’s shoulder. 

Mycroft taps out ‘I love you’ in morse code on Greg’s back repeatedly in the silence, practiced and familiar. 

“Love you too, My.” Greg whispers, smiling against Mycroft’s lips before drawing him into a slow kiss. “Shower?” 

“Mhm.” Mycroft agrees, “One more kiss though?” 

Greg’s laughter makes Mycroft’s heart soar, “Only one?”

“Well, perhaps we can negotiate a never ending supply…” 

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: @lostallsenseof1  
> tumblr: @lostallsenseofcontrol


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